


Systematic Somethings

by MasterSatanOverlord



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-21
Updated: 2017-08-21
Packaged: 2018-12-18 09:33:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,857
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11871513
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MasterSatanOverlord/pseuds/MasterSatanOverlord
Summary: I'm not really sure what it is this is going to be about, but I do know it will have some explicit content. THIS WILL BE TOMARRY!





	1. Sectumsempra

"Stop right there!" There is a single command shouted throughout the hall and the crowd of unidentified people quiet. The men and women, though gender is indistinguishable due to the black flowing robes and silver masks, freeze, looking amongst themselves to find the individual who had angered their lord. "Pettigrew! Come." The man who closely resembles a fat rat freezes completely, a look of terror coming over his face before turning to walk toward the man with slits for a nose, abnormally pale skin, and a frail figure. It was almost ridiculous to see this 'Pettigrew' trembling in fear of this red-eyed figure clad in a dark green robe lined with black and accented in silver. As the short, fat man with a suspiciously silver hand and horror plain on his ruddy, dirtied face made his way to the Dark Lord, the thin man dismisses the rest with the exception of one tall man in similar, yet different, black robes as well as no mask covering his features. His arms were curled around the seemingly unconscious body of a prepubescent boy with pale skin and a very light smattering of freckles you had to squint to see, dark black hair, way too baggy, worn out clothing, and an old beat up pair of rounded black wire-rimmed glasses. The shorter man's voice, much like his appearance, had a strong similarity to a rat, with how squeaky it was, though it might have just been the terrified undertones that made it seem shakier and higher in pitch.

"Y-yes Master..?" He cowers before the taller man, trembling hands before his face.

"What, pray tell, was going through that puny head of yours while you decided that using the Cruciatus Curse against this boy," He gestures toward the young Potter boy, unconscious in the arms of the Potions professor at Hogwarts while hissing at Pettigrew. "Was one of your least idiotic courses of action?" Pettigrew fidgets, somehow even more nervous than he was just seconds before.

"M-My lord, I apologize. I had not realized that you wished for none other than yourself to bring upon punish-" The shorter man is cut off with a screech from the taller, the murderous aura around him becoming ever stronger, exuding through any sort of erected barrier and straight to the bones of all beings within proximity.

"PUNISHMENT! Was I not explicit enough for you while saying that no harm was to come to Potter?" He surges forward, wand drawn and aimed, with the appearance of intending to strike the man down. "Crucio!" The stouter of the two falls to the ground, a shrill shriek erupting from his mouth as the magic from the still standing man courses out of his thirteen and a half inch yew and phoenix feather wand and collides against the man seeming to be in excruciating pain.

The unconscious boy stirs a bit and the black haired, black eyed man holding him speaks softly.

"My lord… The boy is awake." Which, though wasn't a lie, was not exactly truth either as the boy was far from awake, he was simply no longer asleep. The man, still aiming his wand at Pettigrew sighed, he remained in his position for a bit longer before drawing the sliver of yew back toward his body, no longer pointing at the man so desperately gasping for air. Turning his back to the man who posed seemingly no threat and no longer held the Dark Lord's interest, he comes forward to the Potions Master and the young teen. Laying his hand across the boy's forehead, his palm covering the jagged scar in the shape of the killing curse, he winces as the sharp pain jolts through his body, the boy's body arches up his mouth opens in a silent scream, nothing but a small hitched gasp of pain coming out. Removing his hand once more, he flicks his wrist, making a gesture that the man seems to understand as he makes a swift exit out of the room. Once the door is shut again, the Dark Lord turns back to Pettigrew. "You best not touch him again. Is that clear?" He enunciates each word, when the man sobs and nods his head, almost hysterically, he flashes his wand towards him one last time, saying the incantation for a spell created by one of his men, Sectumsempra, a severing spell. The man, if you could call him that, groveling on the ground screamed once more as, not only the silver hand was cursed off, but the whole of his right arm clear up to the elbow. Sweeping out of the room, the man calms greatly as a giant serpentine creature slithers up to him.

"Nagini." He speaks in a hissing, harsh language in what seems to be a tone of greeting. "It seems as though it has been awhile. Where have you been?" The snake, Nagini as this man had called her, simply curls herself up his body, resting her heavy head against his shoulder.

" _Is it not enough, Tom, that I am here once again?_ " She responds minutes later. " _Have you finally done away with that blasted Pettigrew?_ " Tom, it would seem, sighs.

"Nagini, you know I cannot simply kill those that have done me a great service." She seems to roll her eyes at this statement.

_Dearest Tom… You can. You merely choose not to._

* * *

 

Sitting in his room of a broom closet, Harry sighs, brushing a small chunk of black hair from his green eyes. Wishing that for once something would happen, not even a miracle, just one small difference in his life. One tiny detail changed from the everyday dull of waking, dressing, cooking, cleaning, eating, beating, cleaning, cooking, cleaning, beating, cooking, cleaning, beating, sleep. Shaking his head, he tugs off his cracked, twisted glasses, pulls the bead cord to turn the light off as he settles into his sad excuse for a bed.

Halfway through the night, he is awoken by a sudden frigid cold against his skin, still mostly asleep, he attempts to pull on the thin cloth to provide him some heat. He soon realizes his efforts are in vain as his hand collides not with a hard cot, but instead soft earthen ground, recently dug up. Now fully awake, he looks around, taking in his surroundings. He's laying in a patch of fresh dirt, but that's as far as he can get in his mental inventory as his eyes come across a strange-looking man, fat and dirty with stringy hair and a great semblance of a rodent. The man was looking down at him with a stick, about nine inches long, and carved to be waved at the end, whereas the part he was gripping was swirled up, around itself. He hears only one word, "Crucio." and thinks it nonsense until a sudden pain infiltrates his every nerve. The pain is made more intense as he has barely woken and is caught off guard. Screaming, he curls into a ball as small as he can manage, having had much practice courtesy Vernon Dursley. The pain stops and he sucks in as much oxygen as he can, grateful for its disappearance. This… This pain was something else, something new. His beatings seemed like mere discomfort in comparison. Once his breathing returns to normal and the pain hasn't returned, he relaxes a bit, not as curled around himself as he once was. The man murmurs again, he couldn't make out the words before the pain returned. Harry writhes and screams, and somehow even manages to beg with the man to please stop. As he begins to believe he can no longer handle the pain, it stops. Similar such events continue until he finally, blessedly, passes out.

When he comes to, it's not due to a drop in temperature, or to pain, but rather to the loud, screams of excruciating pain. Not truly caring one way or another, he doesn't bother to check, he's too tired, so he simply relaxes once more, trying to sleep once more. But the screams continue, longer, louder with each passing moment. As he's about to give up on his blessed unconscious state, the noise stops. There are slight footsteps, a brush of skin against his forehead, a soft whisper he can't make out, pain. He tries his best to scream, but he can't seem to force it past his raw, dry, throat. And then blackness once more.

A sudden pain envelops him as he is calling upon his followers for a meeting. A pain that could only be one thing. Gesturing over one of his best men, one of the first there, he speaks lowly to Snape. "Find the boy Severus, bring him here." The man nods and Apparates out of the room. In front of the house marked as number 4 on Privet Drive. He knocks calmly on the door, not minding the early hour. He waits a moment before knocking again louder. After another moment's pause, he hears loud swearing and the door being unlocked before flinging open.

"Vernon Dursley, I presume?" His voice is as dry as always when the large, purple-faced man pops his head out of the crack in the door. "Might I speak to one Harry Potter?" The man becomes a darker shade of purple.

"At two in the morning? I think not!" He moves to shut the door once more as he angrily spits out the last piece.

"Mr. Dursley. The boy now." He glares at the man, and if one wasn't looking close enough, they would be left to assume that was what caused the man to step back and grow pale, but in actuality, the fourteen inch ebony wand with a core of Dragon's heartstring had much to do with the blood draining the man's face and the sudden cooperation. Once he makes his way inside, he sees the man was covered by scarcely more than a bathrobe he can hear the shrill voice of a woman calling out.

"Vernon? What is it?"

Severus ignores the woman in favor of following the now pale, living boulder to a small door beneath the stairs. The puny slab of wood swings open, creaking the whole time, revealing an empty cot that had obviously been slept on and not much else. The larger man splutters, in both rage and horror. "H-he was here! I swear!" The Potions professor ignores him, walking toward the small amount of empty space available. Finding a trace of magic, Apparation of course, he follows it to the small clearing. Finding only the small boy, with freezing skin, a pale complexion, dark hair, and a worrying amount of bone poking out. He picks up the relatively weightless boy before Apparating once more directly behind the man who had ordered him to do so. He whispers but one word, "Pettigrew." The man before him clenches his teeth but manages to continue on relatively unchanged.

Only a moment later is he yelling out, across the hall. "Stop right there!"


	2. Parseltongue

Confusion. The first thing in Harry's mind as he wakes up. He's not sore, there's no nagging or banging on his door, he doesn't feel cramped, he can breathe easy, he feels…. He hesitates to even think the word, free. He feels free, safe. Like he won't be hurt here. Wherever here is, now that Harry has looked around, this isn't his room. But then, where is he? He hasn't been much of anywhere outside of the small broom closet beneath the stairs of house number 4 on Privet Drive.

He's not scared, even now as he hears a slither, a soft hissing voice. " _Hatchling..? You are awake? How do you feel?_ " Harry looks desperately around the room, almost in a panic and sees no one. The only other living being in the room is a snake, he wasn't concerned. Snakes always seemed to like him, in fact, he had even spoken to a snake at the zoo just a few days ago on Dudley's birthday. He tries to speak to this snake, perhaps he wasn't crazy? Maybe he really could communicate with these beautiful creatures? And beautiful this one was, shiny dark scales, an elegant face and pose, stretching up to look at him.

"You... Can you understand me..?" She nods, much to the boy's enjoyment. He grins, the smile looking as though it might break his fragile face even as it so prettily lit up his light green eyes. "My name is Harry, what's yours?" He seems so earnestly happy like this is the first conversation he's had with, well, anything. And it practically is. He rarely ever spoke to Petunia or Vernon, and so very rarely to Dudley. He doesn't even seems scared, or worried about this predicament he has found himself in. Being an eleven-year-old boy waking to find himself in a strange place, after a strange dream.

" _You may call me Nagini, hatchling. That is what Tom calls me._ " Her face takes on a strange expression, almost like a smile. Harry cocks his head to the side.

"Tom? Who's that? And where am I?" He asks these questions, but seems calm, as though believing that he will be safe because Nagini had promised this, simply with her presence. He felt safe here simply because he had not been attacked, he must have been unconscious here for at least awhile and he continued to breathe, to pump blood through his body, to live.

" _Tom is my master. He gives me somewhere warm to sleep and makes sure I get enough to eat. This is where he allows me to sleep, to live._ " The raven haired boy glances around the room, simple but nice. There was nothing unnecessary, a bed, a wardrobe, a desk. Nothing especially extravagant or unique. Getting up, Harry walks towards the door before Nagini slithers into his path. " _You mustn't leave young one, you are not yet healed. You must lay and rest._ " Harry opens his mouth to complain, but the snake moves forward, her large head pushing the boy back, onto the bed. Harry protests, but only weakly as he hasn't gained back his strength that had been sapped from the Cruciatus Curse. " _Sleep hatching._ " And with that, Harry swiftly fell asleep.

Tom has just dismissed Snape as Nagini slithered up beside him. "The boy is asleep."

Turning his attention to the snake, he beckons her up, to wrap around his arm, stroking the scales between her eyes gently he sighs and walks to his room. The raven haired boy looked uncomfortable, his body bent at awkward angles, wearing his pajamas twisted all around himself, most likely cutting at least some circulation through his body. Straightening the boy, he untwists the clothes, making them much more breathable, less suffocating. The boy rolls onto his side, mumbling something indiscernible, tucking the blankets over the boy he turns to leave, but is pulled to a stop at the hand on his wrist. "Nagini." He speaks simply her name, but she seems to understand, as she curls her way towards Tom's hand, about to touch the boy as he lets out two whispered words and lets go, snuggling back into his blanket cocoon of warmth.

"Thank you."

Nagini retreats back up Tom's arm and he leaves the room, shutting the door behind him and setting a hex so that none may enter or leave without his explicit permission. Sinking into the bed located in the room just next to his usual room, Tom strokes Nagini's soft scales as she cuddled into his heat, limited as it is.


	3. Nagini

Harry awakens again, still in the sparsely decorated, empty room. He stretches carefully, not wanting to further injure the bruising and cuts along his back and sides. He's surprised to find that there is no pain as he reaches his arms above his head, though his back does pop rather loudly. Lowering his arms to his sides again, Harry looks around, not quite knowing what to do. The snake he had met earlier, Nagini, was no longer in the room and he didn't particularly want to wander around a strange place without some sort of guidance.

Harry was used to being alone in the silence, finding other ways to entertain himself, but he had grown to the point of being unable to do so. He had begun to simply wallow in the boredom around a year ago and did so now. He quickly grew unable to grow silent and so had stood, walking to the door across the room from the bed dressed in green silken sheets. He turns the knob, reasoning with himself that this Tom person Nagini had mentioned wouldn't know he was awake unless he left the room.

As he reaches out to turn the knob of the door, the wooden panel swings open revealing a tall, pale man. He was thin and the shade of his skin was concerningly white. He had red irises and no nose, a couple slits taking place of the nostrils. There was no hair on his head and his thin frame was draped in a flowing robe, the same shade of green as the sheets of the bed Harry had just vacated.

The ten-year-old boy steps back, stumbling further into the room he had just attempted to leave. From the corner of his eye, he notices Nagini slithering close, circling around his feet before winding herself up, around the man standing in front of him to rest her head on his shoulder. She hisses softly against the man's ear and he inclines his head towards her to hear better, not knowing that young Harry could also understand her words. "Worry not, hatchling. This is Tom, he may look harsh but he is kind." Harry looks up at the man once more, no longer stepping backward.

"I'm Harry. Harry Potter." The boy says quietly, not quite knowing what to say. He cuts off Tom before he can respond to the Parselmouth standing before him.

"I'm quite aware." He steps back, out of the way and holds out an arm for the boy to walk alongside him. He brings him into a sitting room with plush chairs surrounding a table. "You may call me Tom during your stay here. Are you hungry Harry?" He asks, as Harry nods slowly he snaps his fingers. A small creature with a too large head appears with a soft crack. Harry blinks, sure he was imagining things as this being looks up at Tom.

"What can I be doing sir?" The creature's voice is high pitched and squeaky.

"Get us something to eat would you? Harry here looks practically starved to death." The creature looks at Harry and nods before disappearing again.

"What..?" Harry can't find his words, he doesn't know how to respond to the strange situation he'd found himself in. His eyebrows were furrowed, shadowing his brilliant green eyes. Just a moment later the creature appears once more, this time with a large platter filled with foods, fruits and breads and meats and some sweets he had never seen before as well as a pitcher full of dark liquid, like root beer that had lost its fizz. There were two cups as well as plates with silverware. The small creature places the platter down on the shiny mahogany table before turning to Tom.

"Anything else you might require sir?" He asks, popping away after Tom shook his head.

Tom sits at the table and Nagini lowers herself from him. " _Come sit Hatchling._ " She hisses as she makes her way onto one of the chairs across from her master. Harry sits beside her and she slithers into his lap, coiling herself up as she presses her head lightly into the hand Harry had reached down to stroke her head.

"She doesn't usually take so quickly to strangers," Tom says as the young wizard gently stroked the scales on her head. The boy looks up at him again, seemingly fascinated as he says a quiet apology but the man waves it off, his robe slipping down a bit to reveal the pale skin of his wrist and a large, dark tattoo. A skull with its mouth hanging open, a snake coming out from between its jaws, coiling into itself, the tattoo was black and could be seen shifting around. Harry's mouth fell open a little as he stared at the Dark Mark. "Something the matter Harry?" He asks, folding his hands together and leaning forward. The raven haired boy shakes his head quickly. Though Harry's response was expected, the way he had in no way reacted to The Dark Lord's presence was even more so.

"I've gone mad haven't I?" He asks, his voice quiet as he looks down at the snake in his lap, stroking his hand further down her smooth skills. Tom gives an almost amused expression, rarely did anyone other than himself find Nagini to be tolerable but then, none of the others had been Parselmouths. He could tell that the boy understood the language of the serpents, though Nagini had not passed along the information.

"Now why would you say that?" Tom felt a strong longing to reach across the table and stroke the boy's pale cheek in an attempt to comfort him but maintained composure.

"I'm talking to snakes, having delusions of being tortured by magic, hallucinating creatures that can't possibly exist." The boy sighs softly and Nagini lifts her head to press it into Harry's neck, speaking to him softly in their shared language.

" _You've not gone mad young one. You're simply seeing the world as it truly is._ " Her rasped voice is soft and surprisingly soothing as the boy continues to stroke down her soft scales.

"Have you not been told of your history? Of your place in the world Harry?" Tom asks, surprised. He had heard the boy lived with muggles, but he was sure they had told him of his parents' death, of the current war, of everything. They had known he was a wizard, it was his aunt and uncle, of course, they knew. Now the whole situation made a bit more sense though. Of course, the boy wouldn't be horrified or angry about his presence. He didn't even know who he was, let alone the man who had killed his parents. At the boy's shaking head, he sits back in his chair.

"Eat first, then we shall talk." He gestures to the food before them. Harry hesitantly reaches out a hand, picking up a small piece of bread, watching Tom for a reaction as though expecting him to change his mind and take the bread back. He nibbles a bit on the bread for a moment before eating a bit more quickly, not realizing until this moment how hungry he truly was.

"What history did you mean..?" Harry asks after eating his fill, resuming his stroking of Nagini.

"Well Harry, it's quite a long story..." Tom says, leaning forward again as he prepares to weave the tale of Harry's short life in the magical world as well as the history of his ancestors.


End file.
